


Silent Night

by sparky955



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparky955/pseuds/sparky955
Summary: Partners spend Christmas Eve together





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sweety_Mutant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Mutant/gifts).



Okay, I agree with you. I think we do need to buy Medical decent side chairs. At least two of them. We could have a small plaque affixed to each, property of Solo and Kuryakin. Nothing gauche, of course. Tasteful. Sure does seem we’re in here more than anybody else. I know, I know, we’re not. But, it just feels that way.

IK, I wish you’d wake up before my ass is permanently flattened by this chair. What do you mean, that would be an improvement? I thought you liked my ass?

So, partner mine, here we are celebrating another Christmas in Medical. I hear some people mark the holiday season by attending or giving parties. Not you and me because for us Christmas is a time for intubation, ventilation, and intravenous hydration. See? I’m here so much I’m starting to talk like they do.

But, seriously, I’m very ready for you to wake up. I’d like to see you open your eyes and try to rip out your breathing tube and start yelling for the catheter to be removed and for your clothing to be brought to you. You are such a rotten patient, Illya, and I hate it when you can’t be.

This is all my fault, you know. I should have pulled you out of that damned machine faster. And, what is it anyway with THRUSH and whirling, winky-blinky machines? Feels like Central Command watched a few too many Flash Gordon Saturday movie serials back in the day. But, you entering your third week of unconsciousness is completely my fault. I should have thrown a flash-bang into the room, slung you over my shoulder and gotten you clear. Then I could have gone back for the scientist and the schematics to that piece of junk. Oh, yeah, you’re absolutely right, The Old Man gave me the standard line that we’re expendable and completion of the mission comes before all else. 

I guess I should be glad that I didn’t respond to him and say what I wanted: you may be expendable you old goat but my partner is not! How many other agents do we have with your combination of scientific knowledge and ninja cat burglar pyromaniac chameleon skills? 

You are not expendable to me, my dearest partner. So, listen to your friendly neighborhood CEA and wake up? 

I don’t know, Illya. It just doesn’t seem like we make any difference anymore. Help one good and noble person become leader of their country and up springs another half-witted dictator someplace else. Blow up one satrap and two take its place. Sometimes, I wonder if we’re just postponing the inevitable. Will this country one day elect a president who will be a good little THRUSH underneath his I’m-just-one-of-the-people façade? Will we become an isolationist country like Wilson wanted us to be? 

All I know for certain is that I’m tired, love. And I sure as hell can’t do this job without you. Come on, wake up, please.

Do you remember the ice storm in Calgary that hit right after we cleaned up The One Trick Pony Affair? The airlines were all grounded and the RCMP closed the interstates. The Old Man just about blew an aneurysm when we told him we couldn’t get back to The City that night to file our after mission reports. And we found that little hotel with the great big beds and and little tiny bathrooms and the great big bar right off the lobby. I never have figured out how you finessed the manager, but you came up to the room with that whole bottle of Meukow and we spent the night getting expensively toasty on some damned fine cognac. As well as on each other. That was the night you said you’d never leave me, if it was in your power to prevent.

You’re leaving me now. And, you promised, you remember, you promised. Damn it, Illya, wake up. You’re keeping that promise to me. You have to hear me. Listen to my voice. Listen and let it guide you back.

Listen to me, I’m whining like a teenaged girl who didn’t get a Princess telephone for Christmas.

Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, you are my strength. There is no one, no one, whom I trust more with my life. All right, yeah, if you die, I would be able to go on, probably keep at this until I got Waverly’s chair. But, I don’t want to. I want you at my side and at my back and in my bed for the rest of our lives.

Did you know that I divide my life into two parts now: Before Illya and After Illya? When I think back to before I met you, the memories all come in black and white and feel one-dimensional, like a newspaper comic strip. Yeah, I had good parents who worked hard to give me a good life. I did my duty in Korea and managed not to get my ass shot off. I got a good college education, and I don’t care what you say, Political Science was a good major. And UNCLE recruited me and I was gradually becoming a decent junior agent.

And then I met you. My After Illya life has been painted in every color in the world. Red for your temper, white for your explosions, gray for all of the water you seem to have to pull me out of, yellow for your acrobatics and green for your never-ending playbook of disguises. You’ve taught me so much, you’ve certainly helped me become a better CEA than I would have.  
And I know without a doubt that I have never loved another person the way I love you.

But the most amazing thing is that you love me. You know, hell, you’ve cataloged every one of my bad habits and you still love me. You’ve become the one constant in my life. No matter how lost I am, I know without fail that you’ll find me.

Find me now. Give me a Christmas miracle and come back to me now. Please, Illya, don’t leave me. Don’t go away. Stay here, please?

……………

“Hi, Illya.”

“Good evening, Geoffrey. How is he?”

“I think he’s made real progress today. His EEG showed a marked improvement in his reaction to electrical stimuli. Don’t shoot me, very light electrical stimuli, not torture.”

“You understand that if I see evidence that you have hurt him, I will have to kill you.”

“Aw, you say the sweetest things. I bet you’re this nice to all the people right before you maim them.”

“Go home, Geoffrey. Be with your family on Christmas Eve.”

“Keep the faith, Illya. Napoleon is making progress. Good night. Merry Christmas.”

 

…………..

Hello, my friend. Here we are together on another Christmas Eve. Only this year, you’re sleeping so you can get me to write all the year-end departmental summaries. I assure you, they will remain untouched awaiting your return.

And, I also await your return. Oh, Napoleon, I miss you. Please, lubovenka, please come back to me. Please wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> For Sweety_Mutant, with hopes this fulfills your wish for angst.


End file.
